


Quebec Weird

by SirenAlpha



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Jack Zimmermann centric, Quebec culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenAlpha/pseuds/SirenAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack grew up practically living hockey, but he grew up living hockey in Montreal, Quebec. It makes him a little different from his American teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quebec Weird

**Author's Note:**

> I've been taking French for years now, and I'm currently doing my undergrad in Montreal (albeit at an English speaking university). I kind of took all of that knowledge and put it into this fic about Jack, and hopefully I've used it all correctly. That was the starting point anyways though it went a little past that (by like several thousand words). 
> 
> This fic can be considered AU as I had Jack go to CEGEP before going to Samwell. For those who don't know, it's two year post secondary school for Quebec students, and you must attend it before going to university in Quebec or enter university as a mature student. I'll explain it more and anything else that might not be adequately covered in the fic at the end.
> 
> Also, I'm not super knowledgeable about ice skating of any kind, but I tried. There's also a lot of food in this story.

Jack kept bringing the booklet of school policy closer to his face then pushing it farther away again, squinting the whole time.

“What are you doing?” Shitty asked with a sigh for having to put a pause on eating his breakfast. Who knew this is what the son of legendary Bad Bob was really like? His star struck feelings had faded fast.

“Is this really the grading scale?” Jack asked, turning the page sideways.

“Yeah, and turning it’s not going to make it any different. At least you’ve got plenty of time to familiarize before classes start.”

“How are you supposed to pass anything if an A stops at 90%?” he asked, turning to Shitty with his normally rather droopy eyes wide open. “And you only pass at 60%?”

“Welcome to the States,” Shitty said with a shrug.

“ _Merde_ ,” Jack whispered to himself then shrugged. “At least it’s not CEGEP.”

“What the hell is CEGEP?”

Jack frowned. “College, you do CEGEP then you go to university. You do in Quebec anyways.”

“So weird.”

“It’s Quebec.”

* * *

 “Are you okay?” Shitty asked, skating up to Jack who seemed to be glaring really hard. “Are you trying to burn a hole into the puck just with your eyes?”

“Puck,” Jack repeated, standing up straight. “Yes, it’s a puck.”

“Yeah, dude, we all know it’s a puck.”

“Yes, but I forgot. I only knew the French,” he explained, no longer glaring at it.

“You should sleep more if you can’t remember English,” Shitty said, looking up at the windows to see what was left of sunrise.

“I just had, euh,” Jack said, making a vague gesture towards his helmet.

“A blank?”

“Yeah, that.”

Shitty shook his head. “Dude, you need more sleep.”

“I’ve spent years doing hockey in French. Forgive me if I can’t remember all the English,” he said, pushing off and rejoining the drills.

* * *

 Shitty spotted Jack’s head almost immediately upon entering his second class. “What the hell are you doing here?” Shitty asked as he sat down next to his teammate.  “This class is for sophomores or at least someone in their second semester.”

“I think I am what you call a sophomore,” Jack said, shifting in his seat and frowning. “I went to CEGEP. It’s like having _le BAC_. I only have three years here.”

“Seriously? You have advanced standing?”

“Yeah, that’s what they called it. I have a major picked and everything.”

“Sweet, man, what’s your major?”

Jack smiled. “It’s history.”

“Nice,” Shitty said, patting him on the back and grinning at him. Shitty had never even seen the guy smile before while playing his life’s dream hockey, but history got him to smile. “You’ll love this class then.” 

* * *

 Jack got better at remembering hockey terms in English, and pronouncing everyone’s nickname with less of an accent. Then Shitty caught sight of some of his notes.

“That is not how you spell center,” Shitty told him, pulling his notes away from him.

“I think I know would know how center is spelled,” Jack said, taking his notes back.

“It’s ‘e’ then ‘r’ not the other way around.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘r’ then ‘e’ in both English and French.”

Shitty made a face. “Ew, you’re using British spelling.”

Jack gave him a flat look. “I can do them in French if that would make you feel better.”

“You do you,” Shitty said, holding up his hands.

Jack rolled his eyes and went back to his notes. Shitty checked them later and found that Jack had kept to English.

* * *

Shitty watched as Jack grew quieter and moodier as classes continued and they headed towards their first games. He threw all the praises, comfort food, and bro touches he could the guy’s way, and after a couple weeks, Jack stopped seeming like he might snap at the wrong word or movement. Ransom and Holster even started talking with them after practice. Shitty started bringing Jack around the Samwell men’s hockey team’s Haus.

Shitty couldn’t even tell if Jack liked the place, not participating in the parties and mostly sticking close to just him even outside of parties.

Then Jack came through the front door of the house with a stack of store bought pumpkin pie.

“Dude, what the hell is that for?” Shitty asked, peering at the pies. “Not that I’m complaining because free food is good and free dessert even better, but seriously? Pumpkin pie?”

“Yeah, dude, it’s not even Pi Day,” Holster said as Ransom looked around him at the pie.

“It’s not for Pi Day,” Jack said as he went into the kitchen. He cleared a space on the table and set the stack down. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Bruh, I don’t know if you know, but we still got a month ‘till Thanksgiving,” Shitty said.

“Yeah, it’s only October,” Holster said.

“Not if you’re Canadian,” Jack said, opening up the first pie.

“I can’t believe I forgot it was Thanksgiving,” Ransom said, putting a hand to his head. “This is what not having a day off for it does to me.”

“This is kind of awesome actually,” Holster said.

“I’m down with celebrating it twice,” Shitty said, taking the first slice of pie. “Rock on, my Canadian bro.”

“I smell food,” one of their senior teammates called out from the top of the stairs before running down them.

“Jack brought pie for Canadian Thanksgiving,” Holster said as he got himself a slice.

“Normal Thanksgiving,” Jack said, moving out of the way for Ransom to get his slice.

“Sweet, pumpkin pie,” the senior said, getting a slice after Ransom. “You got my dibs, Jack.”

“What?” Jack asked, staring at the senior in confusion even as they shook hands.

“Bro, you get to live at the Haus next year,” Holster said.

“Congratulations,” Ransom added.

“Oh, thanks,” Jack said, smiling and grabbing a slice of pie for himself.

At the end of the night once most of the team had gathered and all the pie had been eaten, Shitty beamed at Jack for having accidentally endeared himself to everyone when he was certain Jack had only felt a little homesick.

* * *

Shitty found himself spending a lot of time studying in Jack’s room after he found out he had a single. He could find quiet there if needed, but he could also talk loudly if he had to and not get kicked out for it. Jack always studied when he did, so he hoped it helped Jack as much as it helped him actually do his work.

“Do you mind if I skype?” Jack asked one evening as Shitty had nearly finished reading the chapter he was supposed to.

“No, go ahead,” he said, waving him off and going back to his book.

Jack started speaking in French to a woman over his laptop. Shitty finished reading and just listened to how Jack spoke in his native language. He jumped when Jack said his name and looked up at him.

“My mom wants to meet you if that’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Shitty said, coming around to sit with Jack.

The woman on screen was beautiful, and he could see where Jack got at least some of his looks from. “Hey, Mrs. Jack’s Mom,” he said, raising a hand in greeting.

His mother laughed, and Jack seemed to chuckle, too. Then his mother turned away, greeting someone off screen.

“Hey,” Jack said in greeting as the person came on screen.

“Oh my god,” Shitty said, leaning in to look at Bad Bob sort of kind of in the flesh and elbowing Jack in the face. “Oh my god, Jack, I’m so sorry, your face, it’s all you have.”

Shitty went to cup Jack’s face, but he already had a hand rubbing his own cheek, and he tried elbowing Shitty back.

“I overreacted. I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” Shitty said, leaning back and putting his hands in his lap.

“It’s fine,” Jack said, righting the laptop. “Hey, Papa.”

“Hey, is this the guy? What’s his name? _Merde_ -y?”

“Papa, that doesn’t even make any sense,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Wait, is _merde_ shit?” Shitty asked, staring at Jack. “You’ve been cussing this whole time, and I didn’t know?”

Jack shrugged, and Shitty could hear Bad Bob laughing through the speakers.   

* * *

“Why is break so long?” Jack asked, looking at the academic calendar Shitty had never looked at.

“Bro, don’t question it. Appreciate it. Go back home, get your Canadian on, come back for more shitty schoolwork and awesome hockey.”

“Quebecois on, technically.”

“Is it seriously a difference?”

“Is French seriously a different language from English?”

“Then why’s your name Jack?” Shitty asked, squinting at him.

Jack sighed. “Papa is Francohone, and my mother is an Anglophone though she speaks mostly French now. She got to name me, and he taught me French.”

“Oh, okay,” Shitty said, nodding sagely. “I have no idea what that means.”

Jack threw a pillow at him. “My father is French, and my mother is English.”

“Okay, okay, I get it now,” Shitty said, holding up his hands. “Hey, what are you going to eat first when you get home?”

“Poutine.”

“What the hell is that?”

Jack looked at him like he’d run over a puppy. 

* * *

 Jack had finished packing to leave, and Shitty sat at his desk waiting for Jack to say something.

“Euh, I know this is supposed to be just a normal goodbye, but there’s something I think I want to tell you,” Jack said, setting down his bag and facing Shitty.

He looked exactly like he did on the ice trying to get the shot. “Shoot, go ahead,” Shitty told him.

“I’m _allosexuel_ ,” he said, voice completely serious.

“Doesn’t that just mean you experience sexual attraction?” Shitty asked, sitting upright. “Not to diss you or anything.”

“I don’t know, maybe in English. Euh, I think you would call it queer,” Jack said, squinting.

“Oh, oh,” Shitty said. “My bad, man, I’m not up on French. I’m glad you felt comfortable telling me.”

Jack shrugged. “After all the time you’ve spent with me, you deserved to know. I deserved to tell you.”

“Are you okay with a hug, cause bro, I have never wanted to hug you more, and you’re usually okay with only celly hugs-,”

And he stopped talking when Jack nodded. Shitty got up from the chair and wrapped his arms around him. After a moment, he sighed and leaned into the embrace. Shitty squeezed him before letting him go.

“My parents know, after everything that happened,” Jack said, clearing his throat and shaking his head. “But it’s, euh, still hard to tell anyone, and I don’t want everyone to know, too.”

“I get it,” he said, patting his shoulder. “I’m here for you man. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know.”

Two words had never made Shitty feel better than those two. 

* * *

“ _Maman_ sent me back with gifts,” Jack said his first day back. “Should I wait to hand them out at the Haus?”

“Yeah, sure, if you want to share with everybody,” Shitty said with a shrug, grinning at the guy who had somehow become his best friend. “Or you could just hand them over to me.”

“It’s an entire bag of candy. No one can eat that on their own,” he said, shaking his head and pulling out a jar. “We can have the maple butter once we get bread though. There’s a toaster in the common room.”

“Wait,” he said laughing. “Maple butter? That’s a legit thing?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack said, completely serious. “It’s good.”

“Alright, let’s get bread because I need to try this.”

“Let’s go,” he said, putting down the jar and putting his coat on. They trekked to the store then back up to his room to get the maple butter and find some plates and silverware. Then, they headed to the common room to toast the bread. Shitty picked up the jar to stare at the maple butter.

“It doesn’t look like butter.”

“It’s not butter. It’s cooked maple sap.”

“What the fuck? Seriously?”

“Yeah, just cooked differently than maple syrup.”

“I need to fucking try this. How the hell does this exist? What do you Canadians get up to up there?”

“Building _les cabanes_ _à sucre_?”

“And what the hell is that?”

“Sugar cabin? It’s where they make maple syrup and stuff.”

“Uh, I think it’s a sugar shack.”

“Alright, that,” Jack said as the toast finished. Shitty watched as he completely covered his toast, and Shitty went light so as not to waste it.

“This is weird,” Shitty said on the first bite. “Good weird, but still, weird.”

Jack laughed and continued eating his toast.

The gifts Jack brought back turned out to be maple candies. 

* * *

“Oh, hey, I don’t think I told you ever,” Shitty said, sitting upright after hunching over his laptop for several minutes and trying to sort out his schedule.

“Told me what?”

“I’m pan.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “You’re a pan?”

“No, pansexual.”

He turned his head. “I would say that it’s still got something to do with pans, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

“You’re getting a gut feeling for English, nice,” Shitty said, grinning. “Nah, it’s got nothing to do with pans. Gender or sex doesn’t really matter to me when it comes to attraction.”

“Ah, okay,” Jack nodded and went back to whatever he had been doing on his laptop. Shitty bet on a history documentary, but it could just as likely be a movie about hockey.

“What? No hug for me bro?”

“Do you need one?”

He shook his head. “Nah, just know the same goes for me. It’s my job to tell people about my orientation, not yours.”

“Got it.” 

* * *

It took second semester for Lardo, the new team manager, to speak up about knowing any French. They found out when Lardo turned up in Jack’s higher level French class. 

“That class is awful,” Jack complained to Shitty while Lardo frowned at him.

“What? Why? I think it’s good.”

“It’s too French.”

“Bro, I don’t know if you know this, but it’s a French course,” Shitty said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“No, it’s that it’s Parisian French, not Quebecois. The prof probably thinks I’m pronouncing it wrong.”

“I mean, Parisian wise you are,” Lardo said with a shrug.

“Fuck your Parisian French,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I speak French fine.”

“I’m just saying,” she retreated, holding up her hands. “You do say _bien_ weird.”

“It’s _bien_ , and I say it perfectly fine.”

“Let’s just not, and stop there, hockey time, hockey makes everything better,” Shitty said, getting between Jack and Lardo and waving his arms around.

Jack shook his head and turned away, muttering under his breath. 

* * *

“Jack, what are you doing?” Shitty asked, looking Jack over.

“Walking?”

“No, where the fuck’s your coat?” Shitty shouted, gesturing to his body. He had on a jacket and not a proper winter coat.

“It’s spring.”

“What?” Shitty asked as he then spread his arms out wide. “Do you not see all this fucking snow? It’s mid-February, get your shit together, Jack.”

“But it’s warm out.”

“It is still in the 20s what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Jack asked, frowning at him. “If it were twenty degrees out there wouldn’t be any snow.”

“Fahrenheit, Jack, Fahrenheit,” Shitty said, grabbing the front of Jack’s jacket. “This is the United States. Use the correct units.”

“Shitty, it’s negative two out, it’s too warm to wear a proper winter coat,” Jack groused, trying to push Shitty’s hands away.

“But what if you freeze before the end of the season?”

“I’m not going to freeze. Seriously, Shitty, let’s go.” 

* * *

“Bro, how are you even functioning right now?” Shitty asked, marveling as Jack just continued to study his notes. “I would be panicking right now if I had three finals on the same day.”

Jack shrugged. “Somehow, acting like it’s CEGEP helps.”

“Alright, what the hell does that mean? I still don’t know what CEGEP is.”

“Well, the actual grade doesn’t matter so much as how you do compared to the rest of the class,” Jack explained with a shrug.

“Ah, so like a curve,” Shitty said, nodding while Jack shook his head. “So what you’re doing is basically harnessing all your competitiveness to study so your test can kick everybody else’s test’s ass.”

“Sure, Shitty,” he said, turning back to his notes.

“That’s hilarious,” he said, laughing then stopping and tapping his chin. “Kinda smart, too, for your situation anyways. That kinda thing might kill Ransom.”

“Shitty.”

“What?”

“Let me study. I still have three finals on the same day.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, studying it is.”

An hour later, Jack groaned and covered his eyes. “What’s the matter?” Shitty asked.

“I keep reading 'the' as _th_ _é_. I need to stop.”

“You’re reading ‘the’ as tea?” Shitty asked and laughed as Jack groaned, falling back to lie on his bed and cover his eyes with his arm. 

* * *

“I’m gonna be so alone,” Shitty complained, hanging off Jack’s shoulder while also trying to pull Lardo in for a group hug. “And Lardo won’t even be here in the fall. Our little team manager frog is gonna become a sophomore without us.”

“Shitty, it’s just a summer and a semester,” Lardo said, patting his arm.

“It’s too much. I’ve only got four semesters left.”

“I’ll be back in the fall,” Jack said, in a tone that only Shitty and Lardo could tell was assuring.

“Yes,” Shitty said, standing up properly. “You get to move in with me, and Holster gets to live with his platonic life partner.”

“His what?” Jack asked, frowning.

“Ransom, like they’re married but without the sex and romance,” Shitty explained.

“So friends.”

Lardo laughed. “Way too close ones.”

Jack smiled. “I’ll see you guys later, need to make sure I have enough time to get through security.”

“Have a good flight home, Jack,” Lardo said.

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Shitty said, wrapping Jack up as tightly as you could. He whispered to him. “Be good this summer, man. Don’t ever be afraid to text or call or whatever.”

“I’ll talk to you this summer, promise,” Jack said back.

“Good,” Shitty said, returning to normal volume and clapping him on the back. “Don’t make me have to text spam you at weird hours.”

“I won’t,” Jack said, smiling. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya next year,” Lardo said, waving, as Jack walked towards security. He waved back before queuing up.

“Is it bad that I’m nervous about this?” Shitty asked, turning to Lardo.

“He’s just going back home.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t always good for you, even if his parents are supportive.”

“It’s a couple months, not the end of the world.” 

* * *

The first update Shitty got from Jack over skype that summer was that Bad Bob Zimmerman still called him _Merde_ -y. Shitty laughed for at least a solid minute while Jack ducked his head and covered his face.

“Should I change it to that officially?”

“No, please, do not ever.”

“And your accent is already getting worse again.” 

* * *

“Shitty,” Jack said, tapping his shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, what?” he asked, turning away from the frogs and all the other team members going at the pecan pie one kid brought in like animals.

“The little one, who brought in the pie, he is speaking English, right?”

Shitty guffawed right into Jack’s face. “You can’t understand him? I swear to you he’s speaking English, dude. He’s just got a strong Georgian accent.”

“Why does he keep saying y’all? What is y’all?”

“You all, Jack, you all.”

“Ah, cause you only have one you. It’s _vous_. Why doesn’t everyone say y’all?”

“Cause we’re not southern. Also, can you really not understand him?”

“Not really,” Jack said with a shrug. Then, his eyes went wide. “Shitty.”

“What now, Jack? I’m trying to watch them eat this pie.”

“Is that what I sound like to French people when I speak French?”

Shitty laughed into his face again. “Bro, that’d be hilarious, but I have no idea.”

“Where’s Lardo when you need her?” 

* * *

Bitty shifted uncomfortably under his captain’s glare, especially after being told to eat more protein. He nudged Shitty. “Why does he keep glaring at me?”

Shitty looked up at him then over to Jack Zimmermann. He laughed. “You hearin’ this, Jack?”

Jack looked away from Bitty and shrugged. Shitty clapped a hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “He’s not glaring at you, kid. He’s just French.”

“Quebecois,” Jack retorted.

“Anyways, English is not his friend when it comes to you. Turns out, he can’t fucking parse a southern accent. He’s just trying to figure out what you’re saying.”

“Shitty, don’t tell him that,” Jack told him, now glaring at Shitty.

“What? You look a little scary when you concentrate. You don’t want to scare off the new frog,” Shitty said then leaned in closer to Bitty. “Also, it’s funny cause he thinks he has your accent but in French.”

Bitty held back a giggle imagining Jack Zimmermann with his Georgian accent. 

* * *

Bitty continued to clear out the kitchen of the Haus after his first pie. His initial search and finding only hot sauce turned out to be wrong. He found jars of something hidden away in one of the lower cabinets.

“Hey, Shitty?” Bitty called out.

“What?” Shitty yelled back, then footsteps. “Hey, what’s up Bitty?”

“What is this? Should I be throwing this out?” Bitty asked, showing him the jar. “If it’s butter shouldn’t it be in the fridge?”

“Hell if I know,” Shitty said, leaning back out of the kitchen. “Jack, frog’s got your maple butter.”

“What?” Jack yelled back from upstairs.

“Maple butter, he wants to throw it out!”

“No,” Jack responded then Bittle heard thumping from Jack running down the stairs. He appeared in the doorway. “Don’t touch my maple butter. It’s all I’ve got, and they don’t sell it down south.”

Jack snatched the jar of maple butter out of his hand.

“Uh, we’re in the north,” Bitty responded. “And shouldn’t that be in the fridge?”

Jack glared at him for a moment then shook his head. “It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. Also, we’re south of the border so it’s south.”

Bitty opened his mouth to question it, Shitty put a hand on his shoulder. “Just let it be. The Quebecois are weird.”

Jack turned back to give Shitty a flat look before heading back to his room. 

* * *

After googling Jack’s father, Bitty decided to google maple butter. “How come he gets to eat what is basically maple syrup on his toast, but I have to eat more protein? It’s because I’m five-six, isn’t it?” 

* * *

“What is this?” Jack asked.

Bitty turned around, ready to give Jack a speech about coming into his kitchen, but Shitty beat him to speaking.

“It’s blueberry pie, Jack,” Shitty said, laughing. “What the hell does it look like?”

“Not like blueberry pie,” Jack said, pulling back the crust with his fork.

“Don’t say anything about my pie if you’re not going to try it,” Bitty said, putting his hands on his hips.

Jack sighed, used his fork to cut off a bite, and then ate it. He made a choking noise.

“Dude, you okay?” Shitty asked.

Jack swallowed and cleared his throat. “Sugar pie.”

“What?” Bitty asked.

“Do you know how to make sugar pie?”

“What is sugar pie?” Bitty asked, dropping his hands.

“Pie flavored sugar,” Jack said then shook his head. “Sugar flavored pie.”

“Okay,” Bitty said slowly.

“If I gave you a recipe would you be able to make it?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Jack turned to Shitty, holding out his pie plate to him. Shitty grinned, and Jack pulled it back. “Hold on.”

Jack practically inhaled the pie and set down the cleared plate on the table and ran out of the kitchen. He came back downstairs with his laptop. He turned the screen towards Bitty, revealing a recipe for sugar pie.

“Alright,” Bitty said, rubbing his hands together and reading over the recipe.

“Are you seriously going to do this?” Shitty asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said with a shrug. “Why not try something new?”

“I’ve never seen you eat pie except at first Thanksgiving and like right this second,” Shitty told Jack as they both sat down at the table.

Bitty tried not to feel self-conscious and check over his shoulder as he made the pie with Shitty and Jack still in the kitchen, talking quietly in the background. “Here it is,” he announced, setting the pie on the table.

“Thanks, Bittle,” Jack said, looking over the pie.

Bitty carved up a slice and put it on a plate. Jack grabbed hot pads and pulled the whole pie towards him. “Hey, you can’t just take the whole thing.”

“Watch me,” Jack said, grabbing his fork.

“Don’t eat it yet. It’s still hot,” Bitty said, trying to smack his hand away from the pie.

“Fine, I will wait, but I will eat it all.”

“Okay, what makes this pie so good that you will eat the whole damn thing?” Shitty asked. “Usually you only eat maple stuff if anything.”

“It’s sugar pie. It’s Quebecois and traditional.”

“Alright, I gotta try this,” Shitty said and turned to Bitty. “I will split that slice with you.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, pushing the plate so it lay evenly between them.

Jack started eating his part of the pie, and Shitty took a bite of the slice. “Jesus Christ,” Shitty said.

“What?” Jack asked.

Bitty grabbed a fork and took a bite of the pie. “Pie flavored sugar is right.”

“You’re gonna get sick,” Shitty told Jack.

“That is the plan. I intend to enjoy the trip.”

“Good fucking luck bro,” Shitty said, laughing as Jack just continued to eat his sugar pie with a small smile on his face.

Bitty vlogged about the sugar pie later. Turned out he had a couple viewers who liked the stuff too. 

* * *

“Who…” Bitty considered not finishing the sentence given the looks he had received after asking about Bad Bob. “is Maurice Richard?”

He got the looks again, except from Jack who actually bumped his head from standing up too quickly in his locker. “You don’t know Maurice Richard?” Jack asked.

“Oh my god, Bitty,” Shitty said, putting a hand over his face. “You done fucked up.”

“What mistake have I made that I ended up on a team with someone who does not know Maurice Richard?” Jack asked, looking up to the heavens and showing more emotion than Bitty had ever thought he’d see on Jack Zimmermann’s face. “How can you play hockey and not know Maurice Richard? How can you exist and not know Maurice Richard?”

Bitty shrunk back. “I’m sorry.”

“Movie night tonight at the Haus,” Jack said in his captain voice. “We are watching “Maurice Richard” even if it means having to watch it with the shitty subtitles.”

The rest of the team vocalized their approval, and Bitty relaxed his shoulders. Jack turned towards him, pointing his finger at him. “And then I’m educating you.”

Bitty sat through the movie that evening, reading more of the subtitles than actually watching the scenes. He kept glancing over to Jack who watched the movie with the same kind of attention he gave hockey. “That was pretty good,” Bitty said as the movie finished.

“Now, history time,” Jack said, shifting to face Bitty.

“Oh man, a Jack history lecture, this is gonna be good,” Shitty said, changing seats to sit directly behind Bitty and face Jack.

Bitty learned more about Maurice Richard and hockey and Quebec from Jack in an hour than he had ever thought possible and noticed several others of his teammates crowding around to listen to Jack speak. Shitty clapped when he finished. 

* * *

At the top of the stairs with Ransom and Holster already disappearing into the attic, Shitty put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hm?” Jack asked, turning towards him.

“The guy who played Maurice Richard had nothing to do with figuring out you weren’t straight.”

Jack shook his head. “Roy Dupuis? No, nothing to do with it.”

“Uh huh,” Shitty said, “I see you smiling.”

“Goodnight, Shitty,” Jack said, heading into his room. 

* * *

“Guess what, bro,” Ransom announced as he entered the Haus with a carboard box held high. Bitty stuck his head out of the kitchen to get a look at what was happening.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Guess,”

“I literally have no idea.”

Shitty chuckled. “He used it correctly, for once.”

Jack gave Shitty a side glance as Ransom pulled something out of his box. “Timbits!” he shouted excitedly.

“No way,” Jack said, getting up to inspect.

“What?" Shitty asked, squinting at the box. “Aren’t those just munchkins?”

“No,” Ransom said defensively, pulling the box in towards his chest.

“I don’t know what either of those things are,” Bitty said to himself as he returned to his pie. 

* * *

“Bittle, don’t bake anything today,” Jack told him after morning practice.

“What, why?” he asked, but Jack had already moved past him to the locker room.

“I think I know,” Shitty said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just do as he says, and it’ll be fine.”

Bitty spent the day stewing rather than baking, trying to figure out if he’d done something to piss off Jack. At least, something more than normal. He took a seat in the kitchen just to stare forlornly at Betsy.

“Jack’s back!” Shitty shouted from upstairs and ran down. He threw open the door, and Jack stood on the doorstep with a stack of boxes.

“Is that pie?” Bitty asked. “You asked me to not bake so you could bring store bought pie?”

“It’s Thanksgiving. It had to be pumpkin,” Jack said, bringing the pie into the kitchen.

“I can make pumpkin pie,” Bitty assured him as Shitty shouted up the stairs for Ransom to get his ass downstairs. “We have Thanksgiving here, too, you know.”

“Yeah, but I did this last year,” he said, opening up the first box.

“I texted the group to let everybody know about first Thanksgiving,” Shitty said as he came into the kitchen, headed right for the pie.

“Regular Thanksgiving, Shitty,” Jack countered.

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Jack does first Thanksgiving, and Bitty will do second Thanksgiving this year.”

“I can’t believe I forgot Thanksgiving again,” Ransom said as he joined them in the kitchen, dragging Holster along behind him. 

* * *

Bitty first heard French out of Jack when he overheard his phone conversation with his father. Walking with him on the way back to meet with the rest of the team, Bitty remembered some earlier conversations. “Oh, hey, even if you do sound like you’ve got a southern accent when you speak French,” Bitty said, getting the words out in a rush. “You still sound kinda nice, speaking French that is.”

Jack gave him a look. “Thanks.”

“I’d say speak it more, but then I’d never understand you.”

Jack snorted in a way that might have led to a laugh were Bitty funnier.

It only took a couple hours for Jack to undo it all with a quip about his shot just being lucky. 

* * *

“Bitty, you have got to dress better,” Shitty said, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know it would feel so cold,” Bitty said, his arms wrapped around himself.

“Get a proper winter coat,” Jack said on the opposite side of Shitty while wearing about the same amount of clothes as Bitty was.

“What about you?” Bitty asked then turned to Shitty. “You’re not going to say anything to him?”

“The man thinks it’s spring in mid-February. That’s not something you can just fix about a person,” Shitty said, holding up his hands.

“Besides, I’m wearing good boots, a scarf, and a hat.” 

Bitty glared at Jack’s knee high boots then down at his own wet shoes. “Maybe I should get boots instead of a coat then.”

“Long johns, too, if this is cold for you,” Jack added.

“Is he making fun of me?” Bitty asked, and Shitty laughed. “I’m serious.”

Shitty just continued to laugh, and Jack smiled with him.

“I hate winter,” Bitty groused.

“Bits, it’s only been one day of snow,” Shitty said through his laughter. “What are you going to do for the next three months?” 

* * *

“What is it, Shitty?” Jack asked, not looking up from his computer.

“Damn, I think you’re developing a sixth sense about me,” Shitty said, coming out of their shared bathroom. “That is not what I wanted to talk to you about though.”

“What then?” he asked, turning from his computer.

“Do you think you being queer brings in more queer hockey players even if they don’t know you’re queer?” he asked, plopping down on Jack’s bed.

Jack looked at him a moment. “Is this about Bittle?”

“You knew?” Shitty asked, gaping at him.

“Thanks for the confirmation, but yeah, if it was going to be anyone,” he said with a shrug. “I have, euh…what did you call it?”

“Gaydar?”

“Yes, that, and I’m pretty sure Ransom and Holster are heteroflexible.”

“Same, but also, aw, you did your research,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. 

“It’s important,” Jack said with a shrug. “Also, I think it has more to do with the school than me. Besides, you’re not straight either.”

“True, true,” he said, nodding. “Hey, are you going to tell him?”

Jack tilted his head from side to side. “Not at this point I don’t think.”

“I think I might. Make sure he doesn’t feel alone or anything. Also, he’s gay not anything else. I should maybe, also, tell him you figured it out.”

“Good idea,” Jack said and turned back to his computer.

Shitty returned to Jack’s room sometime later. “I think Bitty took it well. Not the me being pan, the you figuring it out thing. I think he wants to be out to the entire team.”

Jack frowned. “If that’s what he wants. We’ll back him up.”

“Hell yeah!” Shitty said, wrapping an arm around Jack. 

* * *

“Are you going to do the same thing Jack does?” Shitty asked Bitty the morning before he headed home for winter break.

“What thing?” Bitty asked.

“I think he means the _Merde_ -y thing,” Jack said, and Shitty just looked at him. Jack’s shoulders started shaking. “I thought I was going to be able to say that with a straight face.”

Shitty laughed, and Jack covered his mouth with his hand, but couldn’t hide the fact he was smiling with his cheeks looking rounded for once and his eyes less droopy.

“No, that’s not what I was talking about. I got Mr. Crappy from his mom,” Shitty said, waving Jack off. “Is your accent going to get worse?”

“My accent doesn’t change,” Jack said.

“Yes, it does. It so does, dude,” he said, holding up his hands. “It’s like ‘t’ ‘h’ isn’t a thing anymore when you get back from break.”

“Well, ‘t’ ‘h’ shouldn’t be a thing anyways.”

“’Q’ ‘u,’ too.”

“That’s only in, like, one word.”

“It’s important, Jack.”

“Accents, gender, and tenses are important. Not your shitty ‘t’ ‘h’ thing.”

“If you didn’t want to speak English, Jack, you should have gone to France,” Bitty said, crossing his arms.

“No way, that’d be way worse,” he said, shaking his head. “They don’t even have good hockey.” 

* * *

Bitty watched in terror with a hand over his mouth as Shitty leapt at the girl standing in the kitchen doorway. “Lardo!” Shitty bellowed. “Bro, you got the fucking chop.”

Bitty went to the door to make sure no one had died as Jack shut the front door.

“Oh hey, Lardo, you’re back,” he said, pulling off his hat and not at all concerned about the fact that Shitty had nearly killed the poor girl.

“Zimmermann,” the girl, Lardo, said once Shitty had released her. “Hey.”

She hugged Jack, and Jack returned it. “How was Kenya?”

“Pretty kickass. You didn’t let the team fall apart without me, did you?”

“Never,” he said, then, as she pulled back from the hug, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks. Bitty, quite frankly, gaped.

“Whoa, what the hell was all of that for, Zimmermann?” she asked, placing a hand on her cheek. "I feel blessed."

“You were gone a semester,” he said with a shrug. “You’ve taken French. You know it’s just a greeting.”

“What?” Shitty asked. “Then where the hell is my kiss for getting back from break?”

“Shitty, I saw you all last semester.”

“And then you went back to Montreal,” he said, stomping towards Jack. “If you’re not gonna give me one, I’m gonna give you one.”

“Oh, no, Shits,” he said, taking a half step back, but didn’t push him off as Shitty grabbed him by the head and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek. “Gross.”

“Hey, kid,” the girl said, drawing Bitty’s attention away from the PDA. “You one of the new frogs?”

“Yeah, Eric Bittle.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Shitty interrupted, standing back from Jack to admire his handiwork.

“You,” Jack started, one hand on the offended cheek and the other pointing at Shitty. “Are not allowed to kiss me with that mustache ever again.”

Shitty gasped, covering his mustache. “Bruh, how could you?”

“Not even the first day of class,” the girl said, shaking her head. “I’m Lardo by the way. Shitty totally skyped me about your pies.” 

* * *

“What are you doing?” Bitty asked, peering around Jack to look at the stove and the pan he was cooking in. “Pancakes? It’s not morning.”

“They’re crêpes. It’s for dessert.”

“I got dibs on the first one,” Shitty announced.

“How come you get to make and eat desserts, but it’s a problem when I do it?”

“First, I eat protein regularly. I am good. Second, I don’t make nearly as many desserts as you do.”

“He’s got you there, bro,” Shitty said, clapping his hand down onto Bitty’s shoulder. “I’m gonna see if Ransom, Holster, and Johnson want any.”

Bitty tried to frown and be grumpy for the sake of not being able to bake and keep his kitchen, but watching Jack trying to make what looked like thin flat pancakes in a pan not quite big enough was nothing if not amusing.

“Hey, Shitty, grab the stuff I got out of the fridge for the crêpes,” Jack said as Shitty came back into the kitchen.

“On it,” Shitty said, opening the fridge door. “Ransom and Holster are coming, but Johnson’s passed out.”

Bitty helped Shitty set up the table with all the toppings. “You really pulled out all the stops.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Smells good,” Holster said as he came into the kitchen.  

“Grab a crêpe and put what you want on it,” Jack said, gesturing to his slowly growing pile of crêpes by the stove.

“I got it first,” Shitty said, grabbing a plate and a couple crêpes before Holster could reach the pile.

Bitty got his after Ransom and Holster and decked it with Nutella, whip cream, and fruit. Jack ate his own last, covering it with dark chocolate sauce, whip cream, and strawberries. While eating, he got the sauce smeared across his lower lip, and Shitty had whip cream in his mustache. Bitty laughed at the pair of them.

“These were a good idea, Jack,” Bitty told him. 

* * *

“Oh no,” Bitty said, stopping in front of the Haus. With the rumored last snow of the winter, a snowball fight had started up, and Bitty had come to the Haus just to bake pie and relieve stress.

Ransom took a ball straight to the face from Jack while Shitty attempted to pelt Holster as he ducked behind the pile of snow that had appeared after a winter’s worth of shoveling.

“I thought you would be better at this since you’re Canadian,” Shitty chirped Ransom.

“Hey,” he shouted back, wiping snow off his face. “Jack’s Canadian, too.”

“Captain of the hockey team and king of the snow mountain,” Shitty said as Jack stood up from behind cover to nail Holster in the back.

Bitty grabbed a pile of snow, packed it into his best approximation of a ball, and chucked it at Jack. It grazed his arm then fell flat.

“Shit, Bitty,” Shitty said, lifting up his sunglasses to look at him. “That was pathetic.”

“But I hit him,” he pointed out. “Can I get through to the kitchen now?”

“Not until I get payback,” Jack said, and dropped a pile of snow onto him.

The rest of the boys laughed, and Jack gestured towards the Haus. “Now you can.”

Bitty stomped his way up to the porch and into the Haus. “That was not an even payback! No more sugar pies for you, Zimmermann.”

“Oh, dude,” Shitty said. “He went last name on you. You’re screwed.”

* * *

Bitty found himself felling confident and lighter after making it through his finals. The upperclassmen at the Haus, however, had crowded around the kitchen table and were quiet for once as he baked his final pies between moving into Johnson’s old room. Shitty and Ransom had their heads down, and Jack kept looking between the two of them.

“Should I do something?” Jack asked Holster.

“Just leave Rans,” he said with a shrug. Shitty made a grunting noise into the table, and Jack sighed.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack said, and Bitty turned to see him with his head cradled in his hand as his arm rested on the table.

“What?”

“When’s your flight back?”

“It’s like in two days. Cheaper and gives me some time to set up here.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll get Shitty to drive me again then.”

Shitty made another noise. Jack nodded. “Yeah, Lardo can come if she wants.”

“Isn’t she still sleeping from her last all-nighter?” Holster asked.

Shitty whined. Jack shrugged. “She can sleep in. My flight’s in the evening.”

“Lucky,” Bitty said as his timer dinged. “Mine’s first thing in the morning. It’d be a better time for you because the only thing I’ve been to that’s that early is checking practice.”

Jack chuckled. 

* * *

“Bittle, it’s been bad enough hearing “Hideaway” all summer. I don’t need you singing and waking me up,” Jack said, leaving the bathroom.

“What’s hideaway?” Bitty asked, and Jack left, shutting the door again.

Bitty finished his shower at double time. He dried off, got dressed, and finished up in the bathroom. He walked back down the hall, dropped his things off in his room, and went to knock on Jack’s door.

Jack opened the door, still not dressed or looking anymore awake than he had when he’d interrupted Bitty’s shower. “What?”

“What’s hideaway?”

“A song, the only one that apparently exists to radio djs,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Seriously? It’s by Kiesza. Look it up,” he said then shut his door.

Bitty returned to his room and did just that. “Not bad. I didn’t even know Jack knew any songs.” 

* * *

Dex froze as Jack sat down in front of him in the library. After practices and games, Dex could keep his cool around Jack on the ice and any other time with the rest of the team, but Jack never sat down with him one on one. “Hey,” Jack said, voice quiet and tone even.

“Hi,” he responded, leaning back.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“If it’s about Nursey, I swear it won’t be a problem during games,” he said, holding up his hands.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It’s about your sticker. Is it accurate?”

“The Republican one?” Dex said, checking his laptop though he knew that was the only sticker on it. “Yeah, or else I wouldn’t have put it on there.”

“You do know the reputation of Samwell, don’t you?” Jack asked, voice still even but now with an edge.

“About it being liberal?”

“About it being LGBT friendly.”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Dex said, sliding down farther in his seat.

“That reputation extends to this hockey team. There are a number of players who are LGBT on this team, and if there is ever a problem with that, it is you who we will cut.”

“Okay, got it, won’t cause any problems,” he said, holding his hands up as a peace offering.

“Good,” Jack said, giving him a nod then standing up.

Dex took a few calming breaths, gathered his things, and trekked to the Haus to see Bitty. “Hey, Dex,” Bitty said, smiling at him as he walked into the kitchen.

“Uh, you know I would never say anything bad about you being gay, right?” he asked.

Bitty squinted at him. “Sure, I know. Why do you ask?”

Dex sighed with relief. “Oh, good, cause Jack just gave me a talk about not causing any problems with people on the team who might not be straight, but I thought it was just you who wasn’t straight.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. “I appreciate him doing that, I guess, not that it was needed. I only know one other person on the team who isn’t straight, but I’m pretty sure he could have handled that conversation on his own, and so could I.”

“It’s okay. You know and now the captain knows I won’t cause any problems.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, frowning even as he turned back to his baking. 

* * *

“For I learned only hours ago that among us, there was one who had yet to endure the gauntlet,” Shitty said, glaring at the accused. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, captain of our own Samwell men’s hockey team.”

“Euh, I technically never was a frog,” he said, holding up his tied together hands.

“Bullshit, you had a first year here like everybody else!” Shitty accused, lunging towards him to point his finger right in his face.

“If this is about doing things to prove honor or win glory for hockey, I’ve done that, too,” Jack said, shrugging.

“Like what?”

“Euh, I jumped in frozen river outside Montreal.”

Shitty pulled off his glasses. “What the hell, dude? That’s not hazing. That’s straight up suicide.”

“Not for Canadians,” he said with a shrug. “It was really cold, but it was a little river, and I didn’t get hypothermia or frost bite.”

“That’s actually impressive,” Ransom said.

“You’re still doing hazeapalooza!” Shitty said, recovering his gusto. “This is a Samwell thing, too!” 

* * *

“Why aren’t you making any pie?” Chowder asked Bitty, buzzing around the kitchen with a worried frown and inspecting Bitty from all angles. “Is something wrong?”

Bitty shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong. You’ll see later.”

“Are you sure? Is it just something I can’t help with?” he asked, pressing closer.

“Yes, if you need to bug someone about it, bug Jack,” Bitty said, trying to wave him away.

Chowder gasped. “Did Jack do something to you?”

“No, he just asked me not to bake pie today. He did the same thing last year. It’s a surprise for you frogs,” Bitty stressed, putting his hands on Chowder’s shoulders.

“Oh,” he said, deflating. “I can wait.”

“Of course.”

Jack arrived back at the house after dinner carrying a stack of store bought pumpkin pies.

“Jack’s got pie,” Chowder announced as soon as he got in the door.

“First Thanksgiving!” Shitty shouted as he thundered down the stairs.

“I remembered this time,” Ransom announced as he and Holster came in from the living room.

“Nice job,” Holster said, patting Ransom’s shoulder.

“Have you texted the rest of the team?” Bitty asked Jack.

“I got it covered,” Shitty said.

“I’ll serve this time so it doesn’t turn into a mad house,” Bitty said.

“Thanks,” Jack said as he moved into the kitchen to set down all the pie.

“What’s first Thanksgiving?” Chowder asked, staring at the boxes.

“Regular Thanksgiving,” Jack answered.

“Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, and for whatever reason, Jack gets store bought pie to celebrate,” Bitty explained.

“Hey, that’s how Jack got his dibs so it works,” Shitty said, grinning as he put his arm around Bitty. “What, did you think you were the first to do the pie thing?”

* * *

Bitty pulled off his headphones when he heard banging coming from down stairs. He got up and poked his head out of his room.

“Bitty,” Shitty called up the stairs. “Help us with Betsy. Jack wants to make poutine.”

“What's poutine?”

“It's some sort of Canadian thing, just help.”

“I’m coming.”

Bitty arrived in the kitchen to see Jack pouring a bag of frozen French fries onto a baking sheet. “Okay,” he said, holding his hand out. “Give me the bag and let me read the instructions.”

Jack handed the bag over.

“We also need to do the gravy,” Shitty said, holding up a container. “What do we do with the cheese curd?”

“Just leave it for now,” Jack said.

“Cheese curd?” Bitty asked, looking at the food warily.

“Go with it.”

Bitty did as asked and baked the fries. When they finished, Jack got down two bowls. “Do you want any, Bittle?”

“I’ll pass. I want to see what it is first.”

“It’s poutine.”

Jack pouted the fries into the bowls then covered the fries with cheese curd and gravy.

“That looks so gross,” Bitty said, watching as Jack dug right in.

“Here goes nothing,” Shitty said, taking a breath then his first bite. “Actually, this isn’t bad.”

“It’s great,” Jack said, covering his mouth as he spoke with his mouth full.

“That does not look remotely healthy,” Bitty said, staring at the bowls as they continued to eat.

“I mean, it wasn’t like an accident that I was a fat kid.”

“So wait, what happened since then?”

“Puberty?”

Shitty laughed, and Bitty shook his head. “Must be because of all that protein you eat now.”

Jack snorted, the kind halfway to a laugh, then went back to eating.

* * *

After EpiKegster, Bitty could hardly have a proper conversation with Jack because of what he’d overheard. Jack flew back home before him like he had the semester before, but didn’t even ask to coordinate rides to the airport. Shitty just came back to the Haus the night before Bitty had to leave, gave him a long look, and headed up to his room. 

* * *

The first night back after winter break, closer to dawn than dusk, someone knocked on Bitty’s door. He groaned and shuffled over and opened it. “Pick up game,” Shitty said. “Just skates and a stick, no contact.”

“Can we even get into Faber now?” Bitty asked, tossing his blanket back onto his bed.

“Jack’s got a key, probably from Lardo somehow,” Shitty shrugged. “You coming or not?”

“Coming,” he said, grabbing his coat and following him downstairs.

Jack, Ransom, and Holster come down after them. “Let’s go,” Jack said, leading the way out of the Haus and to Faber.

“It’s not a problem we have uneven numbers?” Bitty asked.

“We can switch off or something,” Jack answered with a shrug.

The campus was dark and quiet aside from the buzzing sound of street lights. Bitty pulled his coat tighter around himself. It took Jack several tries to unlock the door even with Shitty hissing at him to work faster. “I’ll see if I can turn on some lights while you guys grab your stuff,” Jack said.

“Can’t see shit,” Ransom complained, pulling out his phone for light and leading the way to the locker room.

“This is a little creepy, not gonna lie,” Shitty said, hunching his shoulders.

“Let’s be quick then,” Holster said.

Ransom flicked on the light in the locker room with a sigh, and they all started changing out their shoes for skates. Bitty double checked that he wasn’t the only one just in jeans as he laced up his skates. Jack came in a moment later. “Got some of the lights up on the rink.”

“Great,” Shitty said, standing up. “Get your skates, and let’s go.”

“I’m coming.”

Bitty headed out with the rest of the boys. The lights over the stands hadn’t been turned on, and only the bare minimum of lights over the ice were on. Bitty found the effect to be quieting, and, once getting on the ice, centering. He couldn’t see anything beyond the ice as if nothing existed past the rink.

Shitty lapped the rink once as Ransom and Holster drifted automatically to their defensive starting positions. Bitty circled the middle as they waited for Jack.

“I’m here,” Jack said, coming onto the ice and holding up a puck. “How do we want to do this?”

“However you want,” Shitty said with a shrug. “It’s not like the goals are up.”

“Me and Rans versus you three?” Holster suggested.

“You’re on. We’re gonna kick your ass,” Shitty said, skating around to his position.

“Sure,” Jack said, skating to the center. “Just too bad we can’t do this outside.”

“There are hockey rinks that exist outside?” Bitty asked.

“You’ve clearly never been to Canada,” Ransom said, smiling at him.

“Let’s go,” Holster said, getting into position for a face off.

Jack dropped the puck, and their game began. Bitty watched as the other four boys began to play hockey differently from every other time he’d seen them. Without body checks, they had to out skate each other the way Bitty did anyways. The style came out looking completely different on them as they all had a considerable amount of height and mass on him. Jack seemed the most practiced, gliding around Ransom or speeding past Holster where Shitty stalled to resist body checking. Ransom could get around Shitty more easily than he could Jack, and Bitty realized he had no talent as a defense-men even without checking as both Ransom and Holster just blew past him. The scores kept pretty even.

“Break time?” Shitty asked as Ransom did a victory lap after his last shot landed approximately where the goal should be.

“Yeah,” Bitty called out, panting. One look at the other boys showed their hair damp with sweat and their chests heaving just as much as his.

“Good match,” Jack said.

“Yeah, this was fun,” Holster said.

“We should do it again sometime,” Ransom agreed, stopping by Holster.

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Bitty confessed, skating forward to stand with the rest of them.

“Well, if you don’t want to play anymore, I know what we could do,” Shitty said, grinning.

“What?” Jack asked.

He skated a little closer to Jack, grin getting wider. He dropped his stick. “Tag, you’re it,” he said, tapping Jack’s arm then skating away like hell.

“Hey,” Jack said, dropping his stick and chasing after him.

Bitty laughed as Jack tapped Shitty back and skated past him. “Hey!” Shitty yelled as he chased after him.

Jack kept well out of arm’s reach, skirting Shitty’s hands with ease. Bitty didn’t recognize the movements until Jack started skating backwards away from Shitty.

“Is that-?” he asked, pointing at Jack.

“I do believe that is your move,” Holster said, watching as Jack turned forward again and cut across the rink.

“Well, it’s not my move, it’s just more like figure skating than hockey skating is all.”

“What’s the point of a team,” Jack said as he looped around them, Shitty ignoring them to continue chasing Jack. “If you don’t learn from them?”

He barreled down the length of the rink away from them. As he made the turn, Shitty lunged for him and latched onto Jack. Jack went down with a yelp, and they slid a few feet.

“Oh my,” Bitty said, skating over to them with Ransom and Holster behind him. “Are you alright?”

Shitty laughed, rolling onto his back. Jack propped himself up and rubbed his chin. “No more tag.”

Shitty laughed harder, and Bitty joined in, followed by Ransom and Holster. Jack got to his feet, shaking his head but also grinning.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can skip this if you're familiar with all of the Quebec/academic/whatever else things mentioned in the fic. This will be kinda long, and I'm sorry. 
> 
> Jack does a bad job of explaining CEGEP beyond the fact that it's very competitive. I have not done it myself, but I have a friend who did. They explained that how it works in CEGEP is you have classes of about 30 students, and you have a score that gets better the higher you rank within the class. The score also takes standard deviation into account. So you want to do better than everyone else, but also have everyone else in a tight cluster. Any lead you have is removed if someone did just as badly as you did well. The score also determines what universities you can get into. Basically, don't have friends in your classes at CEGEP.
> 
> I fixed a bit about Jack's parentage concerning which one was Francophone because my comic reading comprehension was really poor. I don't have confirmation on whether Jack's name is actually Jacques which would mean he actually does kind of have a nick name.
> 
> With allosexeul, I know a lot of people go ace or bi for Jack, but I kinda feel like he would realize that he's not straight and that's enough. He doesn't question it or worry about it any further and leaves it there and describes it with a word from his native language.
> 
> Maple butter on toast is kinda like cinnamon-sugar but more maple tasting. As far as I know, you really don't have to refrigerate it. 
> 
> I'm going to attempt describing/exaggerating the difference between the Parisian way to pronounce bien and the Montreal way so far as I can hear it and reproduce it with just typing. Parisian: be-yen, Montreal: be-yan, and that's the best I've got. The southern accent thing was actually the first thing I thought of when I heard it pronounced that way. Bitty just happened to fit into that. I also don't think Jack would understand a southern accent well if he'd been used to a northern one. 
> 
> Also, the blueberry pie I had in Montreal was very weird. It was like cake in pie crust that had blueberries. I have no idea whether that was a fluke or not. The bagels are weird, too. 
> 
> I recommend the Maurice Richard (2005) movie. 
> 
> Cheek kissing is a thing in Quebec, but not nearly to the extent that it's a thing in France. 
> 
> I'm sorry Dex, but it's not unreasonable for Jack to be concerned. He studies history, I'm sure he knows about political parties. 
> 
> The river thing is actually a story from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but I would not put it past Canadian hockey players to do something similar. Also, it was not actually a river or full submersion and no one got hypothermia or frost bite.
> 
> I think that was everything. I hope you enjoyed the story.


End file.
